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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135581">Kaleidoscope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cravetherose/pseuds/cravetherose'>cravetherose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abigail Hobbs Lives, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cosmology, Fix-It of Sorts, Hauntology, Mind Palace, Multi, Multiverse, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Abigail Hobbs, Sort Of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:21:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cravetherose/pseuds/cravetherose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"If the universe stopped expanding, and began to contract, would we see broken cups gather themselves together off the floor, and jump back onto the table? Would we be able to  remember tomorrow? If this were so, time would go backwards....and people would die before they were born." - Stephen J. Hawking</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Hobbs &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham &amp; Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham &amp; Abigail Hobbs &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trick or Treat Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Kaleidoscope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/gifts">arbitrarily</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Maybe the dead don't haunt us. We haunt them.</i> -- <i>The White Road,</i> Sarah Lotz
</p><p> </p><p>"....what if we'd all left together? Like we were supposed to, after he served the lamb. Where would we have gone?" "In some other world?" "In some other world."</p><p>*</p><p>Will's hand falls away from Abigail's throat, from the open gushing wound that almost looks like a mouth that could speak, sliced so precisely over the earlier scar it seems as if that line has become unhealed, unsealing itself so all the blood in her rushes out eagerly as secrets, her skin paling as he watches. His other hand falls away from his own wound, too, and he feels his own life running out of himself, overflowing like a cup. His vision goes dark, his head is throbbing, but he tries to smile at Abigail, in case she's afraid. He doesn't know if she sees it, or if he smiles at all. They die there, together. Jack retires; Alana will never walk without pain again. Hannibal will die too, but much later, when Freddie Lounds is questioning him with Dr Chilton's permission and she asks about Will. Even after the guards shoot him through the heart, he will keep coming for her, his hand leaving a bloody print on her dress before he dies. (When Freddie posts the image on her website, the server crashes within minutes. When she tries to sell it on ebay, the bidding reaches half a million dollars before it's shut down. Her publishers won't let her use it for the cover of her book, but even so, it stays on the best-seller list for two years.) Alana buys a plot for Will, and secretly buys one next to him for Abigail. They share one headstone, engraved with something Abigail said Hannibal once told her:  <i>In my Father's house are many mansions.</i></p><p>*</p><p>Garrett Hobbs, caught and twisting on the razor antlers and horns of his own mind, somehow realizes that he kills the girls Abigail finds for him so he will never kill Abigail, but because he will never kill her, the killing will never end. He tells her to hush, shush honey, he'll make it all right, he'll take care of her, that all she has to do is fall back into the rushing river and let the water sweep over her, and carry her away. He weeps as she dies in his arms, the salt water wetting her face. He tries to honour her, but when his wife walks in on the two of them, he shoots her as she runs, and then himself. Freddie Lounds reports on the crime scene as an unsolved murder-suicide and later tries to sell a book based on her exclusive photos of the Minnesota Shrike's nest, but no publisher will touch it. Will never meets Hannibal; Abigail never meets Hannibal and Will. The doors to the many rooms remain shut; they are unlocked, but no one will ever open them. The fragile teacup remains safely on the top shelf of the china cabinet, unused, and when one day someone knocks it off its perch accidentally while reaching for another cup, no one is there to mourn it, to imagine the pieces springing back together again, drawn together irresistibly, in a moment. In the twinkling of an eye. </p><p>*</p><p>Will knows as he grabs the lino knife from Hannibal that he isn't stronger, or faster, and he's not smarter than Hannibal either. Hannibal freezes for one moment, just a little stutter in the brutal grace of his movements, at the actual physical reality of his design. He didn't want to frame Will; he doesn't want to leave them all, alone and dying. He's only doing what he thinks he has to do. His hand moves a fraction of a second slower, and Will sees it, wrenches the knife from his grasp -- he cuts himself badly and the sudden spurt of blood makes it hard to keep hold of the handle, but somehow he does -- and holds Hannibal close as he sinks the knife deep into his belly, turns and twists the blade. He hears Abigail scream behind him. She tries to grab the knife as he raises it to his own throat, but she's too late. She spends a year in the hospital, Jack and Alana faithfully visiting her every week, but she doesn't speak until Freddie Lounds somehow slips in and tells her she must tell the truth, in her own book, her own words, about Will and Hannibal. The book they write, Abigail's autobiography, stays on the best-seller list for two years. Alana writes the preface for it. After a girl comes forward and tells how Abigail tried to lure her in at a bus station while her father waited, and all the truth comes out, Abigail becomes a recluse. She buys a twenty-acre farm, more like a mansion with an elaborate security system, deep in the countryside and lives there alone until her late eighties. The villagers call her The Woman With The Dogs, when reporters still come by even long after she dies in her sleep.</p><p>*</p><p>His hands are on hers, strong but gentle. "Tighten....and trim. There you go. It's called a blood knot." She looks up and smiles into his face; he's smiling too. "Your father taught you how to hunt. I'm going to teach you how to fish." "Same thing, isn't it? One you stalk, the other you lure?" Will shakes his head. "One you catch, the other you shoot." "What are you trying to catch?" she asks. "The one that got away," Will says ruefully. "Maybe it'll come back to you," she says, and something about her tone makes him stop fiddling with the lure and look back down at her. She leans forward, inhaling -- the sharp tang of sweat mixed with the mildew smell of old unwashed clothes, a brief whiff of dog, the Old Spice note blaring like a horn -- and puts her mouth on his, their lips just touching. He lets go of her hand and puts his hand at the scar on her neck, tracing the long ugly proud line of flesh with his thumb. She slips her tongue into his mouth, and he tightens his grip on her throat.</p><p>*</p><p>"Do you know the King James translation? Often called archaic, even quaint, but I prefer it. "'In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.'" </p><p>"You don't believe in God," Will says wearily. "I'd say you <i>play</i> God, but you'd say that would be <i>vulgar</i> of me."</p><p>"Let us just say -- even the devil can cite scripture for his purposes. There are so many rooms in the memory palace, Will. So many possibilities. There are so many worlds. Everything that can possibly happen has happened. We will always have this place."</p><p>"Oh, no -- " Abigail cries as she drops her teacup, suddenly clumsy, and it shatters on the floor in a steaming pool of dark liquid.</p><p>"It's all right," Hannibal says. "It didn't break, see?" And he holds out the cup to Will, fragile but whole, the light shining through it. Abigail smiles at him.</p><p>"I know what you're trying to say," Will says. "Everything that can happen, happens. It has to end well and....it has to end badly. It has to end every way it can. But this is the way it ended for us. For all of us."</p><p>"But if everything that can happen, happens, then you can never really do the wrong thing," Abigail says hopefully. "You're just doing what you're supposed to." Hannibal smiles at her. Will looks away.</p><p>*</p><p>"The thing about grief," Alana says, her kind eyes fixed on Abigail's, clear and concerned, "the thing about grief is, you can focus so hard on the person being gone, that you don't really see <i>them</i> anymore. It's kind of like -- a negative space exercise, in art class? Did you ever do that one?" Abigail nods, because she wants to keep Alana talking, keep Alana's eyes on her own. "You see all the places they aren't. But if you can let go of the grief, a little bit, some of the memories will come back, when you don't expect them. It's like a surprise. A gift."</p><p>Abigail thinks some of the surprise gifts she's had in her life weren't that appealing, but she doesn't say that to Alana. "Do you miss them, too?" she asks instead. "Both of them?"  That's pushing, and she knows it, but Alana will let her.</p><p>Alana nods, so serious, so honest. "I do. I think about them. Both of them. Every day."</p><p>"When does it get better?" Abigail asks, honest too. She's sick of this, walking around and feeling absences instead of presence, like when you have a tooth pulled, feeling like a piece of her is missing. </p><p>"In time," Alana says, so sweet and wise and absolutely certain. "Time is the great healer. And speaking of time" -- Abigail rolls her eyes, Alana always tries to end their sessions gracefully and it just comes out corny -- "I'm afraid ours is up, but we can continue talking about this tomorrow. Or something else, even," she says with a bright smile. "Anything you like." Their roles shift and change, as Abigail stands up and puts on her red coat, the one Alana helped her pick out. Alana reaches out with a gesture both brisk and maternal and frees some of Abigail's hair from the collar, her fingers barely brushing Abigail's scar. "And stay away from Freddie Lounds in the meantime," she adds, still sweet, but definitely scolding.</p><p>"I will if you will," Alana says, naughty-innocent, to see her blush, and Alana does.</p><p>*</p><p>Will and Abigail get into an argument in the town supermarket, of all places, when Abigail lets slip that she's been talking to Freddie Lounds, and they wind up having a real bout right in front of the meat and fish counters, a special display of rainbow trout goggling at them with clear silver eyes, like they can't believe what they're having to witness. "Just because you KILLED my dad, doesn't mean you get to BE him," Abigail yells, much too loudly, and feels the rest of the store around them go absolutely quiet. She stares at Will in shame and fear. Will just looks back at her, and says blandly, "Which dad would that be?" Abigail starts laughing like he intended, and she sets him off. The two of them get completely hysterical, Will laughing silently so hard he can't breathe, Abigail actually crying and holding her stomach because it hurts. They're still laughing as a security guard comes up and tells them, very politely, that they're upsetting the other customers, and they have to leave. They're laughing all the way down the aisle and out the door, even as they do the perp walk, marched out by unsmiling men in uniforms. "You're terrible," Abigail wheezes, leaning against Will's truck and wiping her eyes. "We can never go in there again, you realize that?" Will shrugs. "I just can't take you anywhere," he says lightly, and sets her off all over again.</p><p>*</p><p>"It's my mom's -- was my mom's -- birthday next week," Abigail tells him, chattering to fill the silence, take her mind off her nerves. "We were going to climb Eagle Mountain to celebrate. Highest point in Minnesota, but....it's not really that high. Less than three hours to summit. You can see Lake Superior from there, though." </p><p>"I could take you," Hannibal says, like he always responds to her unspoken wishes: if she said she wanted the moon, he'd tear it out of the sky. "If you still wanted to go."</p><p>Abigail smiles at him, but says, "I think it would just make me sad. I wouldn't want to go somewhere and be sad with you."</p><p>"Perhaps in another world, you and your mother made that climb," Hannibal says. Abigail feels the corners of her mouth turn down; Hannibal watches her face intently. </p><p>"Would be nice....I had a hard enough time dealing with this world. I hope some of the other worlds are....easier....on me....on other people."</p><p>"Will is coming," Hannibal says, beckoning the stewardess for more champagne for each of them, in such a classy way it doesn't look demanding or privileged. Abigail's used to him reading her mind by now, so she just sighs. </p><p>"Don't worry. He'll be here."</p><p>Ten long, long minutes later, Will <i>is</i> there -- Abigail feels her face light up without her control at the sight of him. But then she sees what Hannibal has already seen and is preparing for: Will is sweeping the interior of the jet, searching for them, and there are men in uniforms behind him.</p><p>*</p><p>Perhaps in another world, the men in uniforms behind him are only airport security guards, who escorted him onto the plane as Dr Lecter's guest, even if he was so late. Abigail sees Will catch Hannibal's eye, sees Hannibal's hand slip back out of his jacket pocket. She's so relieved she clumsily loses control of her glass, which spills champagne down her leg and the delicate flute falls to the floor. In first class, the carpeting is so thick it doesn't break, thankfully, and Will picks it up and lets a stewardess take it from him, hands her the replacement glass full to the brim with bubbles that fizz like joy. "Butterfingers," he says, and then, registering the overwhelming relief on their faces, says "hey -- hey, you two didn't think I wasn't going to show, did you?" He smiles again, his face so expressive he looks like a different man; a new man, with his face clean-shaven and his hair cut very short, in a good suit that still has dog hairs clinging to one pantsleg. He's so close Abigail can smell his cologne, not the same as Hannibal's but similar. Light but penetrating citrus notes, bergamot and sandalwood, and something else like a field in summer. Will catches her sniffing and grins down at her.</p><p>"Of course not," Hannibal says. </p><p>*</p><p>Abigail's a little bored, but she hides it because she likes that Will wants to teach her how to fish. It's not really at all like hunting, though. She's used to observing prey in its natural habitat, trying to pick up its habits, see where it'll go and what it might do. A good hunter waits, her father always said, but this is nothing <i>but</i> waiting; she's not focused on anything in the water, just herself. Maybe someone experienced can look beneath the surface and watch the currents and even see the drifting silt and pebbles, although Will's not looking down into the water either. He looks....not happy, but content. Peaceful. It's a strange expression on his face. They're facing the same way, but she turns to ask him something, feeling the cold pressure of the water against her waders. He looks at her, then <i>behind</i> her, and now he looks absolutely horrified. <i>"Stop,"</i> he hisses. "Stop moving." Abigail freezes. "What -- what is it?" she whispers. "Just stay still, please <i>do what I say</i> for once without pitching a fit, Abby -- " "But Dad, what is it?" Her father glares at her.  Abigail risks a quick peek over her shoulder, but she only catches a glimpse of something on the shore that looks like a stag, with giant branching antlers and fur so dark it looks like a negative shape. It raises one hoof, delicately, and she thinks it's going to step into the water.  <i>"Don't look!"</i> Will shouts. He raises his shotgun to shoulder height, carefully bracing, but Abigail sees someone behind him, raising their gun in the same moment, with the same motion -- a sharp-featured face, a tall body with brutally powerful shoulders: Hannibal. The gun's report momentarily deafens her and she sees the bloody hole in Will's chest, his stomach, ripped open beyond repair. He looks at her and he isn't smiling, but his face goes slack and almost looks peaceful again, at rest. She drops her own rod and reaches out to him, but he's already sinking, dead weight. She screams as the water rushes over his face and she frantically splashes in the icy current trying to pull him back up, but the waves are already carrying him away.</p><p>*</p><p>The first memory Abigail has after her father slitting her throat isn't Will killing him, or Hannibal holding the gaping wound in her neck closed, as much as she'd like it to be. She surfaces slowly, her throat so dry it hurts to breathe, the panic and pain muted beneath the crushing weight of the drugs she's on. She can feel her real thoughts <i>(what happened where am I where's Dad is Mom dead do they all know)</i> darting around under the fake calm like fish deep in a pond. The light's low, but it still hurts her eyes. She squints and makes out a round white clock on the wall opposite her, with a big face and simple plain numbers. The head of the hospital bed is raised, so she can see them without turning her head. Hannibal is on her right side, unself-consciously reading something, his hand wrapped around hers with the gentlest of pressures. She can't even squeeze his hand back. Will is on her left, slouched in his chair, looking like a country mile of bad road, as her father used to say. Neither of them has noticed she's awake, if she is awake. Will leans forward, and reaches for her other hand. He doesn't hold it, like Hannibal does, he just puts his fingers over hers, very lightly. At that Hannibal looks up and smiles at Will. He uncrosses his legs and shifts his chair a little, the legs scraping on the tile floor, balances his book on his lap and reaches out his other hand to Will. Will looks at him, then at his hand, and bends forward, and then the memory ends. She doesn't know if they realized she was awake and watching them, and she doesn't even know if Will did take Hannibal's other hand, so they were all holding each other, together. But it doesn't matter: everything that can happened, has happened, even if one day it all unhappens and the world runs backwards so it can all happen all over again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The cologne Hannibal chooses for Will is <a href="https://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/4711/4711-Original-Eau-de-Cologne-3256.html">4711.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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